


seraphim and cherubim

by freloux



Series: love is a promise [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Size Kink, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was inspired by <a href="http://fandomsecrets.dreamwidth.org/1239198.html?thread=846773406">this thread at Fandom!Secrets</a>, which discusses writing the Doctor/Companion relationship. One commenter said, "I tend to bristle at Time Lord/Human unless it's deliberately written as unhealthy."</p><p>I decided not to include this in the 'intarsia' series because those are more relationship-focused in a positive/romantic way. This one analyzes their relationship from a negative standpoint. It was difficult to write because I tend not to like unhealthy relationships in real life, much less in fanfic, but was interesting thought experiment for sure: what do companions give up by being with the Doctor?</p>
    </blockquote>





	seraphim and cherubim

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by [this thread at Fandom!Secrets](http://fandomsecrets.dreamwidth.org/1239198.html?thread=846773406), which discusses writing the Doctor/Companion relationship. One commenter said, "I tend to bristle at Time Lord/Human unless it's deliberately written as unhealthy."
> 
> I decided not to include this in the 'intarsia' series because those are more relationship-focused in a positive/romantic way. This one analyzes their relationship from a negative standpoint. It was difficult to write because I tend not to like unhealthy relationships in real life, much less in fanfic, but was interesting thought experiment for sure: what do companions give up by being with the Doctor?

He'll ask her sometimes: why don't you get a hobby, or a boyfriend. Clara almost laughs at him because she remembers all the times she would go out and then the Doctor would appear. He'd vworp-vworp into her yard, or the street, and she'd grab her things, maybe put money on the table if he was outside a restaurant, and leave. She'd toss her hair over her shoulder as she ran, saying thanks very much but I've really got to go.

So it's not like she hasn't tried.

She's got human habits he doesn't understand. Once, when they were in London, she ran into a shop to buy lotion. She rubbed it over her hands in even, rhythmic motions: up past her wrist to her fingertips and back again. He asks her why and she says that the smell reminds her of home. He doesn't know what "home" is - he's never really had one. He's had nothing but this box and the drifting universe for years longer than she's even been alive. Distant memories of Gallifrey will flicker over him sometimes, memories that make it hard for him to move forward. He'll be programming the TARDIS, or fighting aliens with Clara, and then they'll hit him: bright, bright orange light and waves of dust, rocks, chaos. Like he's living in two places at once.

It's Clara's human presence that grounds him. She's so tiny and fragile and a bit strange: she's got endless pairs of stockings, and wears those ridiculous shoes. Oxfords, she called them. They've got a bit of a heel. He always wonders if she can run in them, and she always surprises him.

He gives her a room on the TARDIS. When she asks him why, he shrugs. "Just because I don't necessarily sleep much doesn't mean that you don't need to." Clara finds herself sleeping there more than at home. It's easier, she tells herself. Easier than another night spent coiled, waiting, bags ready just in case. When she is home, she's tense. She snaps at her students and fumbles through dates. Her mind is always halfway through the universe, wondering what adventures she's missing.

It's not just the adventures, though. The Doctor is a presence that intrigues her. She daydreams about what's going on in his head. He's quiet, serious, withdrawn: like one of her favorite novels that's just begging to be opened and explored.

The daydreams go darker, more interesting, at night. Clara finds herself wondering what it would be like with him. It's not that human boys don't have interest for her; of course they do. Clara just tells herself that they're complicated, they're different, they're far away. Really, it's that she's getting a bit tired of all the running. The pretending. It's like she's living in two places at once.

One night, she imagines that the Doctor kisses her. It's silly and stupid but she feels her whole body buzzing. When his head moves lower, she wakes, gasping.

For days after that, she can't even look at him. He doesn't seem to notice a difference; he just teases her and insults her hair as usual.

The awkwardness thaws out, though, and she loosens up enough once he teaches her to program the TARDIS. She learns that it's as much of a mental connection as it is the physical process of beeps and levers. "It's about trust," he explains, and that's when she realizes that it's the same kind of relationship she has with him. It's a closeness she hasn't felt with anyone in a long time. It makes Clara feel a distant ache for what could have been. What that looks like, she can't even define herself.

She stands there, at the console, feeling a little sad and out of it. In the haze, she must've pressed something wrong because the Doctor is now behind her going "tsk, tsk," and then he leans past her shoulder and, hand over hers, slots the tab into place. "Like this," he says, patient for once.

Clara turns around and faces him. "Teach me," she says, like it's some kind of dare.

Really, though, they end up teaching each other. She guides his hand up between her legs and over her underwear where she's already so wet that she's half-embarrassed. It becomes just like her dreams: that dark, sweet, slightly tangy scent and her whining into his ear.

When he kneels down in front of her, there's a shaky feeling in her stomach as she backs into the wall, wriggles a little, and spreads her legs. She unzips her skirt and rolls down her underwear and stockings, concentrating on the second heartbeat of arousal between her legs. He licks up her cunt until he reaches her clit in teasing little sucks. She sighs and threads her fingers through his hair as she arches her back and moves herself against his mouth.

The Doctor ends up being her first. It's not planned at all, for either of them, but it feels like a logical conclusion. Even naked in front of her, he still exudes power: so much more time, space, and even pain than she will ever see or feel. Clara feels so utterly, utterly human: little and frail underneath him. She takes his cock in her left hand and runs her fingers over his veins, watching as he shivers. He runs slick between her lips, and she whimpers at the way she can feel him pulsing inside her. He's so big she's not sure she can take him, but she wants to - she has to - she wants to feel all that power for herself.

The corners of her eyes are wet. It's too much all at once, and at the same time it's not enough: she's addicted to this and how it feels. Alien but human, like something familiar she's been trying to reach for all her life. Her hair - all that hair, so long and full - gets tangled up in his hands, and he's mired in the sweetness of her shampoo.

For him, it's an almost out-of-body experience. It feels like someone else, maybe one of his other incarnations, is moving over her. She watches his face and how it's serious in concentration until he loses it in her - those breathy moans, her nails digging into his heaving shoulders.

His cum runs down her thighs and it feels like regret, like everything she's missing by being with him.


End file.
